


Caught in the Act

by Nontalent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive John Winchester, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Weecest, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nontalent/pseuds/Nontalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They had been in the middle of fooling around that afternoon when their father walked in... they hadn't been expecting him back for at least another day."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Act

“D – Dean?” Sam’s voice quivers, coming out quieter then he’d meant it to be, but in the absolutely silent motel it doesn’t seem that out of place. Everything had just happened too fast, and Dean had been there blocking him the whole time so he hadn’t really gotten a good look at the situation before he’d found himself trapped in a too small white tile bathroom.  
They had been in the middle of fooling around that afternoon when their father walked in. It was only about the fifth time they’d tried this whole ‘experimenting’ thing, but even so, Sam had definitely been on the verge of deciding that he couldn’t live without it when John had barged in. At first, he’d acted normal, his wordlessness comfortable after what had clearly been a good hunt. Then he had turned, as if to speak – not a whole lot but enough to see his boys stark naked and in Dean’s bed, the farthest from the door. They hadn’t been expecting him back for at least another day and had therefore not felt it necessary to be bashful in the slightest. Sam had stripped completely and planted himself in his big brother’s lap with his long legs wrapped around Dean’s waist. This position had been perfect for giving them both a clear view of their cocks pushed together in the space between them, and the rouse it got out of Dean had been hilarious. Sam was sure he’d never seen anyone’s expression transition from shock to wonder to want so fast. It was well worth any price he’d have to pay later, or at least that’s what he’d thought.  
When Dad spotted them, Sam froze. He was afraid, sure, but his quick mind reasoned that if he and Dean stuck together, they could take on even their father. They could talk, try to reason with him, maybe even fight a bit, but, if they worked together, it would definitely be alright. It had taken a few seconds of stock stillness for John to finally slam the shotgun in his hand onto the tiny kitchen table to his left and take one tiny step towards them. That’s when everything sped up. Sam tried to step forward in an act of diplomacy, but Dean was there first, and instead of extending a hand to their Dad as Sam had intended to, his arms were holding his little brother behind him, protecting with his body despite his nakedness. Sam was quickly shoved toward the wall behind him forced to watch as his big brother opened the door to the bathroom, locked it so that when it closed it could only be opened from the inside, and then shoved Sam into it. All without breaking eye contact with John. When he did finally turn around, it was only to mouth the words ‘don’t open the door’ to Sam before slamming it closed.  
Then the silence set in.  
And that’s where Sam finds himself now, listening carefully, his eyes strained in the dim light as if trying to see through the cheap wood in front of him. After a moment, he raises a finger to tap once at the door, and is rewarded by a slight jangling of the doorknob from the other side. ‘to check if its locked,’ he realizes, but a moment too late. Suddenly, a muffled roar envelopes Sam, a clear indicator of his father’s delayed reaction, but what’s worse in the whimpering yell that accompanies it. One that can only belong to Dean. It’s so quiet, like he’s trying not to let the sound out, and Sam would’ve missed it had he not been so intensely focused on locating the pitch of Dean’s voice among the crashing obscenities his father is bellowing.  
Dean. Fuck.  
Sam hears another sound from his brother, only this time it’s more akin to a scream. Following it comes many rapid cracks of metal on skin, then skin on skin, and Sam can’t stop himself from visualizing what’s happening behind the door. His father is no doubt beating Dean with his belt, probably punching and kicking him too.  
“DEAN DEAN DEAN DEAN.” Sam realizes he’s been shouting the word mindlessly while pounding the door with his fists. He reaches for the lock, undoing it in an attempt to free himself so that he can come to Dean’s aid, but the door doesn’t move when he pushes it. There’s a weight on the other side, and it dawns on him that Dean’s body must be shoved up against the door, no doubt in order to stop Sam from doing exactly what he’s trying to do, and so instead the young boy settles for pressing himself into the wood as if to meld himself with the older boy on the other side. He hopes that the solid prop will ground him, but it doesn’t, and as Dean’s yells become more frequent, Sam feels panic overtaking him as rolls of nausea wash over his body, threatening to make him black out.  
It takes what feels like years for their father to finally stop. He goes away as suddenly as he came, leaving a mass of broken glass and spilled possessions behind. Worst of all, though, is the broken boy he leaves cowering at the back of the room, his skin torn in parallel cuts, lips bloody and one eye turning black and blue. When Sam finally gets out of his little bathroom prison, he can’t help the sob that escapes him.  
“Nah Sammy don’t be like that, I’m fine, honest,” Dean smiles up at his little brother in what he must hope is a comforting way. His effort to look calm only succeeds in scratching further into Sam’s composure, and when he kneels down to tend to his brother through teary eyes, Dean can’t help but place a chaste little kiss on his forehead. “Thanks for the concern baby boy, but I’m okay, seriously. Look, they’re just shallow cuts, it was mostly just yelling.”  
“What did he say?” Sam hiccups.  
“Never to touch you again” Dean laughs humorlessly, averting his eyes.  
Silence, again. Sam folds first and answers the non-question in the only way he knows how: “I’m sorry Dean, I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he whispers, “never again, I promise. It’s all my fault, you should’ve let him hit me not you. I’m so sorry I – ” his voice is cut off by a soft but genuine laugh from Dean  
“No way Sammy, not happening,” is all he says before pulling Sam close and helping him up so that they can lean together and hobble over to the bed in the corner, Sam eventually having to bear most of Dean’s weight when he starts to lose strength. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” the taller boy chants under his breath, a mantra that helps both of their heart rates slow down, even if what he’s saying is only half true. Once Dean is in bed, Sam’s hunter’s autopilot finally kicks in and he cleans each of Dean’s cuts before bandaging them lightly. Then he pulls shorts and t shirts on both of their bodies. Dean hums in appreciation, then on an after thought says, “lock the door Sammy.”  
“Yeah, okay,” comes Sam’s reply. He tries to keep the edge of sadness out of it when he thinks that what he’s locking out is his own father, but when he looks over at Dean and sees his eyebrows knitted together he knows he’s failed. Sam locks the door a mumbled apology, looks out the little peephole to see if Dad is still hanging around, and then turns to breath a sigh of relief while looking across the room.  
“C’mere,” Dean’s voice is tired, but his body language is open and inviting. A new energy courses through his little body, filling him with an undeserved and out of place happiness as he looks at Dean. His Dean. The Dean that didn’t reject his clumsy advances despite the fact that he could definitely do better then his gawky little brother. The Dean that insisted on taking it slow even when Sam was pushy, just because he didn’t want to hurt him. The Dean that took a beating for him, then still wanted him, despite the fact that Sam is messed up and what he wants is messed up and it’s brought nothing but trouble and pain to Dean so far. Dean. His Dean. ‘And I’m his too,’ Sam thinks. This new revelation makes him feel prouder then he’s ever before in his life.  
“What are you smiling about,” Dean’s voice breaks through Sam’s thoughts, sounding a bit bemused.  
“Huh? Uh, nothing, just that I love you is all.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he’s really had time to filter them; they hold meaning that he definitely hadn’t thought through before hand. It’s the first time he’s said it in a long time, not because it’s not true but rather because Winchester men don’t really like keeping their hearts all out and exposed all the time. That and also the fact that since they’ve begun fooling around the words can’t really be as platonic as they usually would be. His big brother’s face contorts slightly, scrunching up like he’s trying not to smile, and for a second Sam is afraid that he might laugh. He feels himself turn bright red, but, thankfully, before his low self-esteem can get too carried away, Dean repeats his original request.  
“C’mere Sammy.” Being on the other side of the room is suddenly too far, so Sam bounds over to the bed, leaping up into his brother’s arms and peppers him with kisses, carefully mouthing ‘sorry’s over the bandaged areas. Once he works his way up the lean, clothed torso below him to the smooth neck and eventually Dean’s lips, he finds himself crying through a smile of his own. A little tear rolls down the end of his nose and splashes against Dean’s cheek, causing Dean to reach up and rub little concerned circles on the back of Sam’s arm.  
“Hey,” he coos gruffly, “no more crying.”  
“But you’re hurt Dean.”  
“I’ve had worse.”  
“But it’s my fault.”  
“No it wasn’t, if anything it was both our faults, and it was worth it.” Sam searches his face for any hesitation, but Dean’s selfless answer is reflected in his soft eyes.  
“No more crying?”  
“Yeah, okay,” Sam says, finding time to wipe away one last slow tear before he’s being pulled down, their lips meeting delicately. Then Dean flips them over stealthily, trapping Sam’s small body beneath his muscular one.  
“I love you too Sammy,” he croons jokingly, but there’s a seriousness in his voice that betrays just how nervous he is saying those few words. Sam sees right through him and offers a reassuring kiss before arching up and sighing into Dean’s mouth, who growls happily in response, the sound reverberating through his chest and into Sam’s, sending chills down his spine.  
“D – Dean,” is all he has to say before his brother is back full steam, as though the incident with their father never happened. Only there’s a slight change. Something about his voice and the way he strokes the side of Sam’s face is more caring, more intimate than Sam had ever imagined it could be. He whines slightly, partially out of embarrassment and partially because he can’t stand the suspense. He needs Dean to move, to do something, anything, before he loses his mind. After all that’s happened that day, finding a little physical comfort seems like the perfect solution, but he can’t bring himself to initiate it, as if doing so will bring their father back like it seemed to do the first time.  
“You want it Sammy?” Dean’s voice is husky and low, rawer than his usual well-practiced seductive tone, more real, like he can’t help it. Sam loves this voice. It makes him want to let go of everything he knows he should be worrying about and just drown in that sound, in Dean. But there’s one thing nagging hard enough on his mind that he lets it escape through his lips without much forewarning.  
“What about Dad?” He’s not entirely sure what he means by this, whether it be ‘what about what Dad said’ or ‘what if Dad comes back?’ or ‘what are we gunna do about Dad?’ or a mix of all of them. Sam doesn’t know, but Dean seems to get the point. He deflates a little, his arms giving out so that he can rest his chin comfortably on Sam’s chest, his face taking on a thoughtful look.  
“Well, he already knows,” he begins, fiddling with the front of Sam’s shirt as if doing so will help him get his mind in order, “and it’s not like we can hide that it ever happened, but I guess we can just, I dunno, ignore it? And hope he will too? If he asks we can just say something like, um, it was a one-time deal or something. Maybe we got drunk. I dunno. Something like that that’ll just make it seem like it was a mistake. Not that it was! It definitely wasn’t, just, we need to make it sound like it was…” His eyes slide up to meet Sam’s, looking for approval.  
“Yeah, okay, sounds good. Although, he’s going to be watching us like hawks. We can’t slip up.” His voice trails off as his eyes trace the bandaged lines on Dean’s body, the consequences of ‘slipping up’ evident.  
“Argh, yeah,” Dean huffs, “that’s gunna suck.”  
“There’s no way around it.”  
“I know, but still.” They’re silent for a few moments, thinking and scheming, trying to find a loophole of some sort. Unfortunately there isn’t one, and the reality of the situation sits heavy in the air before Dean breaks it with a sly remark.  
“Well, if this means no messing around for I dunno, weeks, months – Christ,” he says, “then we might as well get our fill now, eh?” He waggles his eyebrows at Sam suggestively, who in turn raises his. Although it isn’t the greatest idea, his young body makes the decision for him by hardening where it’s trapped between Dean’s body and Sam’s. Dean gets up again on hands and knees so that he can leer down at the boy beneath him, but when he begins to crawl forward, his back seems to stiffen and he rolls off of Sam and onto his side, clutching at one of the cuts.  
“Dean!” Sam reacts loudly, hands fluttering all over his older brother’s body while Dean relaxes to lay on his back.  
“Relax Sammy, it was just a little muscle spasm, no big deal. Just give me a second.” His hand swats at Sam’s as he leans back and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.  
“No,” Sam responds immediately, “no, this is a bad idea. You should be resting anyway. Ugh, sorry, what was I thinking, you really shouldn’t be moving around, let alone –” he stops and turns a slight shade of pink. Nevertheless, his point is made.  
“Aw c’mon Sammy,” Dean complains comically, but when Sam really does start to shake his head and bite his bottom lip the way he does when he’s determined to get his way, Dean senses danger and changes tactics. “Please Sammy?” he begs, his voice hushed and completely serious. Sam looks up, startled, his big eyes meeting Dean’s half lidded ones only to see that Dean’s pupils are blown. After a quick once over, he realizes that Dean is rubbing himself ever so slightly with the heel of his palm through the think fabric of his tented shorts. “Please?” He asks again, pushing every ounce of sex appeal that he can into the word.  
“N – no Dean, bad idea, we shouldn’t, we really shouldn’t…” Sam stutters, but he’s already starting to lose willpower.  
“C’mon Sam, just think. It might be a really long time before we get a chance like this again. Just let me…” He begins to get back up so as to crawl toward the younger boy, but Sam comes to his senses with just enough time to grab a hold of both of Dean’s shoulders and push him back into the bed.  
“No, Dean. You can’t. If you really want to, um, I could, you know,” he stutters, his hands pulling away from Dean as if burned and come to rest in his own lap, twisting together while he stares at them, incredibly focused like he’s trying to memorize where every skin cell goes.  
“What do you mean?” Dean’s voice is cautious. To be honest, the furthest they’d gone is jerking each other off. It was extremely hot of course, but Dean has always been insistent that they not take it any further. Earlier that day, when they’d both been naked, had been a first.  
Sam looks everywhere but at the boy laying in front of him before he abruptly says, “I could, you know, lead it?” his voice is weak and when Dean laughs his face turns a tomato red. Dean leans in suddenly, bringing their mouths together in the kind of kiss that made Sam’s toes curl. He loves all the little bites and licks Dean gives him, so when he pulls away Sam whines like a pathetic puppy.  
“You make it sound like some sort of circus,” Dean snickers, “but alright, I’m all yours baby boy.” He winks once before bringing his hands up to tuck behind his head, and Sam wishes he wasn’t so relaxed with this. Although why wouldn’t he be? Sam just offered to basically do all the work, who wouldn’t say yes? Although he was pushy, he’d never really done much when it came to these encounters of theirs; he’d grown used to letting Dean take over, too used to it if he was being honest.  
‘Stay calm, it really can’t be that hard. Just get his clothes off first,’ Sam preps himself before hooking two crooked fingers on the elastic band of Dean’s shorts quickly to get it over with. With a little of Dean’s help, he manages to fully undress him, and then sits dumbfounded as he stares at Dean’s fully hard cock, watching as it moves up and down with each of his slow breaths.  
“You just gunna watch?” Dean asks, smirking.  
“Ah, oh, sorry, no um,” comes Sam’s eloquent response. This wasn’t his first time seeing Dean like this and he scolds himself harshly, but still finds it hard to deny just how foreign it feels being given full reigns. It doesn’t make him feel powerful though, it makes him feel small. Like he isn’t living up to Dean’s expectations, who he knows has plenty of experience with this type of thing when it comes to girls. It makes him feel like a dumb kid. By the time he’s pulled off all his clothes as well, Sam’s come to the conclusion that he needs to do something to catch Dean off guard. Even if it isn’t a whole lot or not very advanced, he has to at least show that he can make sitting still for him worth it.  
Sam wraps one tentative hand lightly around the base of Dean’s cock, starting off the way it always does when the roles are reversed. He waits for Dean to close his eyes the way he knows he will, with that little smile he makes whenever he’s happy. This is it, his window of opportunity. Quickly, Sam brings his head down so that his face is only inches away from the tip. Upon feeling the shift of weight on the bed, Dean opens his eyes, but only soon enough to see Sam’s pink tongue lick one languid stroke from the base of his cock all the way up to the top.  
“Wait, Sammy, don’t –” his words choke off, leaving his throat in a low groan as Sam repeats the motion, this time swirling the tip of his tongue lightly at the top, tasting the precum that had gathered there. “Christ, you could’ve given me some warning,” Dean says, his voice going very weak, which makes Sam smile and boosts his confidence a few notches. Before he knows it, he’s got his head bobbing ever so slightly over the top, being careful to shield the sensitive skin from his teeth. After a while he takes a break from that motion, finding it rather tiresome, and instead opts for changing between thick, broad strokes and little flicking ones around the head and hard length. He looks up at Dean just to make sure everything is alright, and is met with the most beautiful sight. Dean’s all laid out in front of him, his bare chest heaving and his hands gripping the comforter around him so tightly that his knuckles are white. He looks down, and when their eyes meet Sam swears he can feel the already hard dick stiffen just a little more. And that’s all it takes for him to lose any semblance of control. Sam tosses his hair back quickly to get it out of the way, the movement winning a low whine from Dean, and then begins to lick and suck at every part of his big brother he can reach.  
“Dean,” he moans, his own voice surprising him just as much as it does Dean.  
“Y – yeah baby boy?” Dean’s voice is a wreck, and Sam can’t stop himself from pulling his mouth off to make an obscene popping sound just because he knows it’ll make Dean moan his name.  
“More Dean, I want more,” he reaches down and covers himself roughly, not really paying attention to what it feels like but rather what he must look like. Young, long limbed, and flushed with a hand around his hard dick – he must be quite a sight, and from the look on Dean’s face, it seems to be a good one.  
“Shit, yeah okay, c’mere baby,” Dean reaches for him, sitting up as he does so, but Sam knows what he’s after. He wants to change positions so that this time is like every other time, but Sam isn’t about to let that happen, not after he’s had his first taste of the next step. So instead, he takes advantage of the position Dean has put himself in and scoots in close so that his legs can straddle the older boy’s lap, tucked in next to either of his sides, and their faces are at about the same level. This is the exact same position they’d been in when their Dad has walked in, only this time no one was going to interrupt. Dean’s eyes widen as he watched Sam wiggle in closer to his lap, placing his hands absentmindedly on his ass to steady him. After a moment of heated kissing, Sam nips gently at Dean’s lower lip before moving his hand down below to press both their cocks together in his fist. He’d always had hands that seemed too large for the rest of his body, but right now they seemed to make perfect sense.  
“Lay back down,” Sam whispers, pushing slightly on Dean’s chest with his fingertips. His brother complies with a dumb nod, leaning back but still propped up on one elbow so that he has a full view of the action. Sam reaches over to the dresser where he knows Dean keeps their lube and snatches it out, popping the top with one hand before letting the cool liquid pour out onto the other. Then he goes back to working their cocks, using the lube to slick them up so that they slide along each other’s lengths in a way that makes heat pool dangerously in the pit of Sam’s stomach. Dean’s eyes flicker back and forth between Sam’s face and what his right hand are doing, seemingly undecided about where to stay until a third thing catches his attention. It’s Sam’s free hand, still covered in lube, moving behind himself in a very distinct motion that can only mean one thing.  
“Fuck Sammy, don’t! You don’t have to, not for me,” Dean’s words are commanding, but the way he says them, all jumbled and slurred together, alludes to the fact that he’s hoping Sam won’t really stop. The thought of Dean’s warring mental state makes Sam chuckle.  
“Shut up dean, I want this.” After all these years, it’s Sam’s turn to be smug and over confident, so he smiles as sweetly as he can before grabbing a hold of Dean’s free hand and tugging it towards the curve of his ass. The sudden attack takes Dean by surprise, and his fingers brush ever so slightly against Sam’s most off-limits-no-brothers-allowed spot as he tries to free himself. The sudden contact isn’t much, but has Sam keening for more and Dean can’t help but blindly seek out whatever it was that made Sam react like that.  
It takes them both a while to get used to the new feeling, but soon Dean’s got his Sammy rocking up and down on his finger, head thrown back and neck exposed, looking like some sort of Greek god. Dean adds another one, whispering sweet nothings into the younger boy’s chest, willing him to relax when he feels him clench. He pulls every trick he knows, and when he finally brushes against Sam’s prostate he makes him go to pieces, riding out his orgasm right in his big brother’s lap.  
“Awesome…” is all Dean can say as he watches Sam come, his eyes wide and full of adoration.  
“shut up,” Sam responds, sounding fucked out and exhausted. He looks down at once, catching sight of Dean’s still persisting erection and quickly changes position to duck his head down. Without hesitation he sucks the head into his mouth, quickly stroking the rest with both hands.  
Dean doesn’t even protest this time, instead opting for a chorus of, “oh god Sammy, my Sammy, mine,” while he pets his little brother’s hair. It isn’t too long before he comes too, releasing with a groan into the other boy’s mouth, then watching in amazement as Sam lazily drinks down the pearly liquid. “Christ, you’re so hot.”  
They boys cuddle and kiss for a long while afterwards, taking their time to gently explore each other’s bodies, memorizing each dip and angle with curious fingertips and tongues.  
“We should probably call Dad,” Dean says at last, ever the good little soldier.  
“Ugh do we have to?” Sam whines.  
“Mhmm,” Dean mumbles, nuzzling his face into the warm body next to him, “It won’t be that bad, he was just freaked out before. Now he’s had some time to cool off. We’ll just say sorry and lie ‘til he feels better. No sweat.” Silence fills the room, only this time it’s comfortable and filled with a tentative hope.  
“I love you, Dean.”  
“Love you too, Sammy.”

**Author's Note:**

> what started off as a well meaning fic turned into this so sorry if its dumb lmao most of it was written at 4am on different days


End file.
